4.5*

Psuke Bariah did a very good narration of this 3rd book in the Psmith series. In this one, Psmith's friend Mike is on the fringes of the story; Mike's cricket team has come to the U.S. and Psmith has accompanied him but is at rather loose ends in New York City while Mike is away playing. He befriends a young newspaper man and gets interested in journalism. While Psmith is his typical self, this entry in the series has more obvious social commentary than most Wodehouse books and less silliness.

I find it a bit sad that many of the problems described in this book still exist over 100 years later -- gangs, slums, corruption... ( )

In the Preface, Wodehouse explains, "Most of the incidents in this story are based on actual happenings." The story is about gangs of New York City, corrupt politicians, slums---in particular one tenement in terrible condition owned by an unknown landlord, attempted murders, attempted bribery, muckraking journalists risking their lives, a boxer, a cowboy, a cat-loving gang leader and some of the usual Wodehouse style.
On the plus side, there is an interracial group of people that work well together; on the negative side, the group is a gang and one of its members is called by the N word, although not usually to his face. Italians also are referred to derogatorily by other characters. These ethnic slurs are now jarring at best; I like to think that Wodehouse was merely trying to show how gang members talk. Certainly he doesn't make them cute and cuddly; well, maybe, except for Bat Jarvis, the cat-loving head of the major gang. ( )

"Billy Windsor had started life twenty-five years before this story opens on his father's ranch in Wyoming. From there he had gone to a local paper of the type whose Society column consists of such items as "Pawnee Jim Williams was to town yesterday with a bunch of other cheap skates. We take this opportunity of once more informing Jim that he is a liar and a skunk," and whose editor works with a revolver on his desk and another in his hip-pocket."

Oh, Wodehouse. You're so quotable. ( )

Psmith, Wodehouse's quintessentially English aesthete, is unleashed in New York City; fish-out-of-water shenanigans in the style of 1980s cinema do not ensue. The fit is awkward and never satisfies as much as Bertie Wooster's later antics in the Big Apple. One feels that Wodehouse wanted a change of scene from the London/country house circuit, but his vision of New York reads somewhat like lesser Damon Runyon. This is still Wodehouse, so it is still excellent, but even Homer nods. ( )

I honestly cannot say that I was overly enthused by this book. While indeed Psmith continues his exploits, and this book sees less of Mike, the exploits in New York are less than fulfilling.

This, in my view, is a bit of a surprise, because PG Wodehouse generally does not fail to deliver the goods.

The book, describing Smith's exploits as a sub-editor seem, to me, to be a little over the top and the end seems to be a bit of an anti-climax. Still, PG was a brilliant writer.... ( )